


Knights of the Wrong Table

by WaggishCape



Category: Arthurian Mythology, Arthurian Mythology & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate History, Alternate Universe - Historical, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Urban Fantasy, Fairy Tale Retellings, Gen, Modern Retelling, Other, Science Fiction & Fantasy, With A Twist
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-22
Updated: 2018-03-03
Packaged: 2018-12-05 13:12:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 4
Words: 14,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11578779
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WaggishCape/pseuds/WaggishCape
Summary: There were once stories about Arthurian legends. Legends of heroes that saved the day and defeated their enemies with valor and honor. Warriors who turned the tide of wars and conquered great lands. This... is not one of those stories.





	1. Satus Ignis

"Poor Merlin, what have you gotten yourself into this time…" my thoughts weighed heavily with my back against the wall. I clung to the most forefront instinct: don't move so much as a muscle. Though, I could just feel my blood boiling over as a silent panic washed over me.

Those sharp fangs dripped in blood, though thankfully not my own. There I stood, eye to eye with the fearsome beast; a hellish creature whose scales were painted like the azure night sky. It crept closer, crashing its tail into the ground with each bellowing step. Glaring back, a reflection of my stoic face in the beast's pale eyes with only the sweat from my pores to betray what stares back at me. It neared closer, closing off any path that may lead to my escape. "I would best see fit your head on my mantel, wretched sorcerer," the beast echoed, "though unfortunate, as I do not collect trophies."

I contemplated replying, but my lips were stayed shut, melting together under the pressure of my racing mind. "I'm much too old to die young now. Let's see if we can't turn the tables on this foul spawn," I clenched my fist, exhaling slowly. The staff that granted my unscaled power laid some distance away from the two of us, already collecting dust from this drawn out encounter. Slowly, I slid along the curves of the wall, trying to cast a spell to throw off the horrid beast.

"There is a cost to trespassing, especially on the grounds of one mighty creature such as myself." the beast growled, winding its clawed hand back. At the same time, the ward was complete, partially masking my scent. "I accept only the price of death!" The beast swung its immense arm, missing me short by only mere inches. With only a split second to react, I dove out of the way before he could bring it back for another swipe.

I ran and I ran, leaping to grab the staff and prepare for battle. "Well then, I don't suppose you accept I.O.U.s?" I said with wry smile. True, the beast was not able to see it, but I know it could feel my mocking demeanor as it began to charge with its ebony horns. I took the stance of a glacier with my feet firm, blasting it continuously with a powerful lightning bolt. Still, it came undeterred, though staggering more with each explosion of energy.

The beast roared, quickly lashing its tail once it drew within a sufficient range. I was successful in dodging the first and second swipe, but by the third one, I faltered, losing my breath as I was slammed against the ground. The horrid creature was not intent on allowing my recovery, thus I acted swiftly by summoning a golem to catch its crushing hand. "Glad to see your fortitude remains rock solid," I spoke to my conjuration.

The golem groaned in return. "Urgh, you just couldn't wait for even a second for that."

The beast attempted to swallow us both whole, only for the golem to catch its cleaving jaws with relative ease. "Do try to keep his mouth open, but not too long." I sniffed the air, gagging just a little. "I'm not overly fond of the stench he reeks."

"Just channel the bloody spell, Merlin."

Snapping back into focus, I began to chant an incantation, a new one I had been meaning to try out for some time. With the beast locked in place, I unleashed a devastating beam of ice into its body. For a moment, victory seemed at hand, that is until I naively spoke my mind. "This is too easy," I said.

The beast spat blasts of magma against my beam, freeing itself from my golem's grip in the midst of the chaos. I still remember its mouth leaking the hellish liquid, almost spilling through its teeth. "If only Bors were here, he'd rip this beast apart and eat it in the process," the golem took a defensive stance, "I presume you have a plan?"

Well, I wouldn't be much of an archmage if I didn't. "I've seen this type of beast before. This one spews a molten substance rather than flames so it can't cover as wide an area. We need to flank it somehow, so we're going to need speed for this. If I can get close enough, I can conjure up a spell to keep it busy long enough for you to strike its throat."

The dragon took flight, trying to gain an aerial advantage over us. The golem swept me up and we began our counterattack. "Do you see its tail?" I pointed out, "that's where we need to start."

"Right, try not to muff it up this time, aye?"

"Cheeky bastard."

With one fluid motion, the golem flung me around to the side of the dragon's dangling tail, allowing me to grab on with ease. "Whoa, I actually caught it this time!"

The golem did its best to keep with the plan, drawing away any attention from me. "Focus, Merlin! You can only be burned so many times!"

I got my head back into the fray, scaling upward until I managed to reach the creature's back. In fear of falling off, I clawed my hand into its scales, failing to realize that this one could catalyze my own death. "You dare, sorcerer?" the dragon roared, "If this is the game you wish to play, let us be done with it!"

"Oh boy."

Suddenly, the dragon spun its massive body, falling to the ground with its back first, hoping to squash me beneath its immense weight. As the ground came closer, my thoughts passed through fleeting, leaving me only with my basic instincts. Grabbing my staff, I plunged it deep into the dragon and conjured a force field around myself as we collided with the earth beneath. Fortunately, I was unharmed and my staff managed to stay in one piece, holding in between the ground and the weight of the beast. However, I had no way out without being crushed in the process.

"Merlin, do tell me if you're okay under there. I hear a dragon is often good company in times of great distress," the golem uttered.

"Oh, piss off, just punch the blasted thing already!" I shouted.

"With pleasure," the golem cracked its rocky knuckles, charging forward. As it gained momentum, I pushed the staff further into the beast, just barely tapping its spine. The beast roared and convulsed, giving the golem a perfect angle in which to strike. The conjured being leaped a mighty bound and slammed its body down onto the dragon's scaly neck. Unfortunately, this pushed all of that weight down on me even more. "Merlin, are you all right down there?" the golem asked.

"Oh yes, I do enjoy the smell of dragon fat and brimstone. Just let me savor the smell for a few more minutes," I answered, though, I wasn't sure if the sarcasm of my tone went through all of that reptile blubber. Nevertheless, my stony friend managed to flip the dragon off of me and helped me out of the small crater. The beast tried its best to lift its head, either to attack or intimidate, but to no avail. I pulled myself together and look the dragon in its pale, vacant eyes.

"You… have fought well… sorcerer… 'tis a shame that I won't…" the dragon spoke.

"Yeah yeah yeah, honor and chivalry, I was a worthy opponent, blah blah blah, let's just get down to why I'm here," Merlin hushed the beast, "I need to know how to activate the portal over there."

Its breathing labored and slowed down. "He's slipping, Merlin," the golem commented. Honestly speaking, dragons breed like rabbits here, but only so many reach their final stages in life. Most of them are hunted by other wizards when they're young and defenseless. I've been chasing this old geezer, Samm'Roth, for weeks now, only for him to spot me in less than five minutes. It's almost sad to think that these creatures are almost endangered, fighting only because they have to. Fighting to survive against insurmountable odds, such a daunting task. Oh well, they make good throw rugs.

"The portal… turn the dial stones… repeat the cantations on the wall," the beast said.

"Golem?"

"Turning the stones, now."

"You wouldn't happen to know the location of any of the Descendants, would you?" I asked, "I'm kind of in a rush."

"Like your precious protégé… Lancelot?" Hearing those words, my smug smile dropped as I staggered back. "The miserable veteran… he's probably wallowing in his own alcohol pool. 'All hail conquering hero,' they once chanted for him. A knight who was once worthy of his title: Blood Knight. He was… your failure of a hero, sorcerer. You let his rage fester, his doubt consumed him like a shadow. You give him all of that hope, and what for? For him to be left a broken shell of his former self? Torn asunder by succubi and goblins?"

I gripped my staff with white knuckles, searing with my own demonic energy. In a sense, he had point. At that moment, however, I sought not to be reminded of my failures.

The stone tiles on the walls shifted around, morphing the corridor into an archway. "The stones are ready, Merlin," the golem called.

"Go. Go see the soul that you destroyed, the spirit… you crushed in your hands. Dare I mention his… pitiful excuse for a bastard?"

Suddenly, I struck the dragon with a single, swift jab right into one of its pale eyes. I wasn't sure if I attacked in anger or if it was a simple reflex. I didn't really care. It wiggled and cried out in agony as I slowly pushed the staff in deeper. "Y'know, it's funny. Lancelot isn't the man he used to be. He's… damaged, maybe even beyond repair. You know what the difference between you and him, however?"

With a quick pull, I plucked out the dragon's eyeball, like a leaf from a branch. The golem swept it up and collected it in my rucksack. Hey, dragon eyes fetch for a hefty price these days. "Lancelot's still going to have both of his eyes after today."

I stepped away from the convulsing creature and walked to the archway, staff dripping with dragon's blood. I chanted the Old English incantations and let my power surge throughout the corridor. Many scholars told me Old English was one of hardest languages to translate, impossible they told me. I suppose they are some things they can't teach at Oxford. In your face, hindsight. Once I completed the ritual, the arch flashed with white light, ready to transport us.

"Back into the fray," the golem said, "our story continues, does it?"

"Yes. I can only hope we aren't too late to save them," I replied.

Never a dull moment with us, I suppose. We braced ourselves and stepped through, not looking back on the world behind us. "Whatever awaits us," I chuckled, "let's just hope it won't kill us."

The golem sighed. "For once, I second that thought."


	2. You Won't Believe This False Hope

"I'd like to resign from this horrid event. This meeting is boring me to the point where I'm dreaming of sleeping," I said, twirling the curls in my hair.

The members of the court set their gazes in my direction as if I had offended them and their children to the highest degree. I could hardly think of a reason for my being here, other than to make Mother and Father look responsible. It was always these weekly meetings that they had a chance to show us off like some prized sheep. Their peering eyes set on us and I'm still not even sure they were listening half of the time.

All I saw was a room full of grizzly warriors trying to be politicians in a kingdom of noble savages. It's that philosophy of thinking with the heart that always leads us back here, always trying to change what will forever remain constant. It leaves such a bad taste in my mouth.

"Excuse my daughter, councilors," Father rose up. His piercing grey eyes almost broke my disdainful demeanor with his stare alone. "Tact doesn't always follow each of our generations."

The room collectively chuckled. Father stood there waiting for them to calm down with their foolishness. I can't fathom what I'd do to them if I was the queen of these lands. Mother glanced at me from the corner of her eye, almost as if we were thinking the same thing. She motioned for Father to continue with his speech.

"The people of the Wildlands are putting us in an uncomfortable position. Their ambassadors are telling me that they can't be bothered to continue trading with us unless we not only expand their territories but also grant them the right to become citizens of the kingdom."

"I say we meet them in the middle," councilor Price spoke, crinkling that long nose of his. He made gestures with his shaking hands to illustrate his plan. "We can ride with a battalion of soldiers and parley with them at the Tristan Wall. They can lay out their exact wishes from us and from there we can coordinate which plot of land to give them. Citizenship is an issue, not with identity, but rather economy."

Father raised an eyebrow at the councilor. "Explain yourself."

Price adjusted his tie, holding his hand near his collar. "Many citizens have poured in from other kingdoms and continents over these past few decades. There has always been a process to citizenship that includes a numerous amount of taxes to compensate for the labor, supply, and time accommodation. It's fairly common knowledge that the Wilders don't exactly have a convertible form of currency, as I hear human teeth are hard to come by here."

"What you say is true," Father replied, "Though, I'd like to hear your remedy if you have one."

Right, this is the part where he listens to what everyone else has to say, only to fail his first hurdle: think for yourself. In a sovereign land like this, it's hard to believe Father hasn't let this council turn into a social bloody democracy. His word is law, right? It's an exercise of power that drives these citizens, they love it when their ruler shows he has total control of any situation. Actually, councilor Gregor should be weighing in with that right about…

"These good-for-nothing barbarians dare to impose a proposition like that," he slammed the table, very nearly shaking me out my seat. "They expect us to open our gates to their kind when they have our blood on their hands?! Your Highness, I do not mean to act as a despot, but bending over to their demands would inevitably be ours, and more specifically your, downfall."

I never really liked Gregor's methods either. He would sooner eat his own sword than admit to being in the wrong. Such uncontrolled aggression in such a short man, I'm still surprised he fits in his seat. Though, I suppose I should give him the benefit of the doubt since his feet are at least touching the ground. The man's scars tell me he is Father's pin cushion. They tell me about war, hardship, and poverty; he's a canvas of pain and blood, most likely not his own. Below his chin, I believe I'm peeking a brand of some sort. Crossed swords on a webbed shield? Father has one like that on the back of his neck. Knowing the buffoons I'm surrounded by, it's probably some old knighthood initiation ritual they have. Half of the council seems to favor marks of the old gods, stemming from an unyielding traditional background. Living in the past is certainly one of their favorite pass times. Still, I don't quite recognize the symbol or the legion it's associated with. Maybe Father is running some form of black ops team under the radar. Knowing the body count from his time in the war, I'd say he could carry out his own political assassinations on a whim. Hopefully, that extends to this damned council.

"Gregor, it does me such joy to see such zealousness from you," Father replied, rolling his eyes. "I will have to actually try and pretend you offer words of wisdom."

"King Uther, the Wilders have proven time and time again that they are only out to overtake this kingdom. If I remember correctly, it was you that once said they seemed incapable of understanding anything other than violence."

"Yes, but in those times we had reached out to them and we were at war. This is the first time in decades, perhaps almost more than a century, that they have made the initiative to extend their hand for peace first. I'm not afraid to admit that it seems I was wrong about them."

Regardless of his position, I'm just glad to see that Father hasn't lost his edge. "Stand your ground," he would always tell me, "make sure everyone knows that you will not give up. Be a determinator in all things that you do." It was a nice sentiment at first, but the more he spoke it, the duller it became. Though I guess when you have all of the power in the land, you can make anything a proverb. Still, it's nice to see the other councilors showing that they're smart enough not to challenge Father.

Mother sat across from me, eyeing me up to make sure I wasn't nodding off. "If my husband believes his own preconceptions to be false," she said, "I would elect for us to engage the Wildlands' ambassadors with a parley. We can negotiate what exactly they want from us, like Councilor Price said, in regards to the land they want."

Mother's being notably bold, though it's probably because she has the biggest sword in the room. No, maybe she wants this meeting to end as much as I do. Well then, allow me to draw them a very soundly conclusion.

"It's pointless planning and overthinking of the very obvious solution that always brings back to square one in these damned meetings," I said. "Just stop for one moment and look at what is right in front of you!"

"Arcadia!" Mother suddenly stood erect from her seat, slamming the hilt of her sword against the edge of the table. The councilors gasped and flinched in their seats, though I'm unsure if it was from my outburst or Mother's.

Father motioned for the room to hush and calm. His demeanor remained still and collected as he settled the table, sighing heavily. "While I won't defend her lack of grace when it comes voicing her opinion, Arcadia is, by all customs and standards, a part of this council. I will not allow anyone to undermine her right to speak out if she has anything relevant to contribute."

Wait, he's letting me speak? I suppose I should use this to my advantage more often. "From what I've heard, almost everyone at this table wants us to parley at Tristan's Wall. The people of the Wildlands are not known for their peace talks, yet from has been said, this is a very unorthodox situation. Now, I'm sure all of you must believe this to be nothing more than a ruse, a ploy stuck in smoke and mirrors. However, if you would allow me to educate you," I grabbed the map near the center, impaling the Wildlands section with my quill. "My proposal can work with every person here. Instead of meeting them halfway or allowing them to pass through unchecked here in Logres, we must meet them head-on."

I can see the councilors absorbing my words, just waiting to see what I'm going to say next. See, Father? That is how you subdue everyone's attention. "In order to show these people that we mean business, we should march into their own territory as a show of firm understanding. If you all still abide that pointless honor code, then that means my father must meet with them directly."

I can see a fire burning in Gregor's pale eyes, stunned at my proposition. "You're most certainly mad, child! King Uther would be slaughtered upon arrival!"

"I would normally disagree with his notions," Price said, "but I must concur, that would be a most suicidal course of action for the king."

"Ah, but you underestimate his skill. Personally, I would've executed each and every one of those Wilders, daring so much as to even cross the wall is a sacred offense." Well, it is, but in truth and in fact, I don't particularly care about offending a few priests. That wall is the only thing standing between us and them, however. It would be a catastrophe if they ever managed to mount it as their own, or even worse, slip through and invade the kingdom from the inside. "If we can meet them where they live, where they reside and show them that we are there to negotiate, but we will not hesitate to strike them where it hurts most, then we're just one step closer to making peace with them. It is not violence they only understand. It is power that they comprehend."

The room was mostly fell silent as the other councilors began to discuss and whisper amongst themselves. Mother seems to be in agreement with the idea based on her nods to me, though there is some reluctance on her face as she exchanges looks with Father. Another councilor rose, Bastille, waiting to chime in with her own thoughts. "Perhaps she is right," she said, "The king is one of the most, if not the most, skilled warriors I've seen in my lifetime. And the codes do state that the most honorable action would be for the king himself to meet any form of rival face to face. The codes never specified it had to be in his own homeland. This could work in our favor."

Everyone, minus Gregor, murmured in agreement. Perhaps these people can listen to reason. Most importantly, my reason.

"I don't believe this. The codes have been outdated for millennia. What Miss Arcadia is suggesting could very well lead this kingdom to disarray." Gregor clearly wants to get the last word in. Well, allow me to break that pedestal of yours.

"Then tell me, councilor Gregor or dare I say, General Gregor, why you have the most military casualties out of any commanding officer in English history. More than 100,000 soldiers, men and women fighting for the kingdom, have died under your watch. You have led your own troops to certain death time and time again, yet you want to lecture me about suicidal decisions? Not only that, but you want to disrespect the creed that has kept these lands in order, kept your children from harm by making them a priority nearest to the king himself, and has protected your own wealth and income from being pillaged by "savages"? I pity that your own wife is not here to see you dishonor the law that she fought so hard to protect."

Oh dear, it appears I might've struck a nerve. Gregor actually looks like he is building up to cry his eyes out, oh joy! That'll teach you some manners, you wretched warmonger.

"I believe this meeting has gone on for quite some time now," Father said. "Let us reconvene tomorrow so that we may discuss a final decision. You are all dismissed."

The council members began to waltz out of the meeting, shuffling out in an effort to stay out of the coming fallout. Councilor Gregor didn't leave peacefully as he growled when he brushed his shoulder past me.

Mother looks none too pleased with me. "If you must insist on embarrassing this family before England's most esteemed-"

"Esteemed? Mother, half of them don't even look like they can pour water out of a boot with the instructions on the heel."

"Not everything you say is markedly the right thing to say. You must be mindful of the thoughts of others, consider them in your thoughts."

"Even people like Gregor?"

"Especially Gregor. And that was a very cruel thing you said to him, Arcadia. The poor soul has lost much in his campaign with your father so I don't think he needs a reminder what he's lost."

Maybe he does! Motivation is key, right? What better motivation than those you've lost, I say! Though, for the sake of complacency with her, I'd probably shouldn't say anything more. God knows I'll never hear the end of it. I better just nod.

"I'll sort this out with you and your father later. Right now, I believe you have practice to get to. Let's go, I'll drop you off by the training center."

Oh, how I dread practicing with the other commoners. I'm wasting my skill on such low levels when I could be fighting with the best masters in the land like Sir Sagramore or Sir Ausar. Being a champion means nothing in this damned kingdom. I suppose I can release some of this pent-up tension with a nice, if not outmatched, sword duel. I've already dominated my studies, excelling further along than any other student in my field. If I'm going to run this country one day, everyone must know from now who's going to be in charge, who they should be praising when they're on their knees. From this day forth, I will heed no corrections except my own. I believe in myself, that will be enough. Oh hey, we're here already.

Mother stopped just short of the entrance to the training center. "Now, I want you to fight fair like you've been taught. I don't want to hear of another incident with someone having mud, dirt, or their own blood in their eyes. And no broken bones, please."

"Oh, Mother, you know me so well." Her glare pierced through cutting away at any other witty remark I had. "Fine, I'll do my best not to cause any major trauma to anyone."

"Good. I shall leave you to your work then. Remember, dinner starts at seven 'o'clock." I nodded a quick response as I left to prepare my gear. From the looks of the schedule, my first match is against Kayden of the Stone. Such a brash and bold man, to say the least. Such a good friend as well, despite his shortcomings. I push and I shove as I try to get to the locker room. Finally, breaking through that obnoxious crowd, I do manage to make out a familiar face in front of the bleachers.

"Kayden!" I shouted, doing my best to make my presence known. Sure enough, the crowd of people recognized my voice enough to disperse themselves as I walked toward him. "It seems that we are set for a match together."

He smiled, brushing off his breastplate. "So it does, little Archer. How was the meeting? Dreadful as always?"

"If it weren't, I might have believed I had gone mad. Father actually cut it short due to some… interruption on my part."

"Don't tell me," he raised a finger to his head, looking as he was trying to read my mind, "You actually voiced your opinion to the council?"

"And more. I had about enough of Gregor's gratuitous ramblings so I decided to remind him of the kind of person he really was."

He chuckled at my remark. "Remind me not to get on your bad side."

"I'll try to remember that when I mop the bloody floor with you."

"Ooh, such confidence. Though, you know how hard they say the big and mighty fall."

"Good thing you're taller than me then."

Crackling with feedback, our instructor walked into the room with his old megaphone. "Kayden of the Stone and Princess Arcadia, please report to the ring, your match is about to begin. I repeat, Kayden of the Stone and Princess Arcadia, please report to the ring immediately."

Kayden sighed, putting on his helmet. I will admit, I do admire the craftsmanship of his armor. The leather wraps nicely around his frame, probably to better his mobility. Those boots do look rather heavy, but with the limp he has, I'm sure we're both smart enough to work around it. And are those runes on his sword? Heh, he must've enchanted it himself since the last match. If there's one thing that he trumps over me, it's magic. Still, it won't be enough I'm afraid. "I'm pretty sure everyone's already placing their bets on you. The pot's grown to almost 2,000 pounds from what I've heard."

Okay, I was honestly not expecting such an excess. "All of that? For some tedious exhibition practice match?

"You didn't forget you were royalty, did you? Maybe that meeting did drive you mad. Remember, it's not just any old match to these guys, they like to see a show; a spectacle that shows off what their champion can do. If you think 2,000 pounds for a practice match is an excess, just wait until we get to the international tournaments."

I had seen the internationals since I was but a little girl from the seat closest to the arena. Master swordsmen from all over pitted against stacking odds for worldwide glory. I will reach there, no matter who stands in my way. And yes, that extends to you Kayden. This sword I hold will be my godsend to victory. It will not taste defeat so easily, even just for practice.

Our instructor guided us to our corners, preparing the pen for combat. Again, he spoke through his horrid megaphone. "All right, you guys know the rules already, but I will through them again just in case either of you tries any funny business," he glared in my general direction, like the tosser he is. "There will be no spitting, no strikes to the head, and absolutely no kicking your opponent while they are down. You may use hand-to-hand combat if you know any particular styles. If either of you breaks any of the said rules, you will be disqualified from the match and automatically demoted from your current position on the leaderboard. Do I make myself clear?"

We both nodded in agreement. As I hold this elegant, slick blade, I must remember my spot as the number one fighter in this center. No one will forget who is the best.

"Fighters, at attention."

Walking forward, our gazes meet in the middle. His blue eyes tell me a story. Unmoving, devoid of any fear. They talk with such firmness and steadiness; he is an immovable stone of the earth. I can

"Blades at the ready."

His steel clashed with mine with a satisfying clang.

"Kayden, your creed for this match?"

He must really love to smile. "For honor," he said.

"Princess Arcadia?"

Oh, such predictability from such a noble knight. The poor child won't even know what hit him. "For glory."

"Set. Duel!"

Is he arching his swing back as his first attack? Tsk, tsk, tsk, I almost feel bad for him. A quick hilt jab to the stomach should do the trick.

He staggered back from the hit, leaving himself open to another attack. Charge with a good shoulder bash!

His arm shot up to defend, but he was too late. He shifted to counter, slashing my armguard.

"You know, you don't always have to get the first hit," he swung low, jumping back.

"Ha! You can't hope to best an enemy if you don't already know their every move." I pushed him with the edge of my sword. "Which I have."

"Come now, is this a duel or a lecture? If I wanted to be talked down to," his front foot passed over his back, "I would've asked!"

He's going for a lunge! There's no time for the sword so I better close the distance with him.

And it's a hit! Kayden stepped back, gripping his side. He seems to be changing his style to one-handed, probably because he knows his two handed strikes are too slow for me. He's almost at the edge of the ring, but I need to break his defense if there's any hope of finishing this.

He's going for the side strike, but skill still remains on my side. Duck the blade and sweep the legs with the sword, all in one motion.

Damn, it connected, but he's still in the same spot. "Getting tired, Archer?"

"Of your babble, yes."

"Oh woe, how you wound me," I can see the disdain bleeding from his eyes. Still, they glow blue beneath his helmet, but now with such jittery movements.

He's going wide from left, an all too easy move to counter.

Wait, he feigned it. Oh no, he's reversing his strike! I can't move away in time!

CLANG!

And there goes my pauldron. I feel so foolish, how dare he!

"Come on, Archer. Don't tell me you didn't analyze that," he said.

Kayden, if I weren't so livid right now, I might actually congratulate you. Unfortunately, this match was not in your favor. Allow me to give you a swift kick to show you what I mean. His eyes look pained and bulging as my foot met with his leg.

Success! He's fallen to his knee and his grip is shaking, but he's far from down. It's time to finish this.

He tried to jab the sword at my hand, but I managed to catch his strike as it glides off of my armor. Another scratch to buff.

Unbeknownst to him, his back foot is pushing the end of the ring. He's foolish enough to check as it slides back, which gives enough time to strike.

Using my momentum, my charge is enough to throw him off balance. I salute your efforts, Kayden, but it was for not.

Bloody hell, he's grabbed my armor sash!

The crowd seems to be eating away at this display, Kayden chuckling under his helmet provoking them to join in. Only now do I realize where feet are crossing.

"Draw!" the instructor called out. "Both fighters have passed the ring limits with no decided victor."

Damn it all, I should've seen this coming. Kayden, why must you be like this?

"Little Archer, I know you like to leave your opponents in suspense," Kayden said, "This is a ridiculous extent, however."

"I'm not sure. I always believed some stones were immovable." I better grab his other hand. Pulling him up, he staggered back to his feet. "Don't you ever strike me like that again. I damn near lost it during the match."

"Really? Cool, that's what was going for."

I couldn't help but laugh just a little bit at his response. Well, at least he didn't lose for lack of trying. "You know, if you didn't talk so much, you might actually have had a chance."

"Me? You're the one giving stratagem lessons in the middle of a fight. You may have the number one spot on the board, but you still don't know how to not announce your plan aloud."

"Okay, let's just agree to disagree."

Kayden squeezed my shoulder and patted my back. "Only for you, Archer."

"Please stop calling me that."

"Hmm, nah."

I can only sigh in contempt. He is not going to let me pass peacefully with that. "You're insufferable."

"Likewise," he said.

The other people gathering continued on with their business, probably mourning the fact that their bets were put on hold. I will not let this happen again, so help me God. Kayden, you got lucky today. Our next match will not be so fortunate for you. Still, it was a good show.

All of this adrenaline, slowing the world around us. I can hear the people as one, some cheering, some booing.

Wait.

Why is no one moving? Everything is frozen in place, but -have I finally lost it?

"Miss Arcadia of the Britains!"

That voice. It's coming from behind me.

"Do not be alarmed. I'm here to talk."

There he is. A man with an ashy beard and tired eyes, yet his body is almost like Kayden's. "Let me guess. You're Merlin, aren't you?"

"No, I'm- wait, you know of me? How?"

Gee, a magic staff, advancing age, and what I'm going to assume are mage robes. He's certainly no Dumbledore. "Lucky guess," I said.

"No matter, there is a very pressing matter that I alone cannot take on."

"Why not my mother, or my father? Surely an army at your hand would be more useful than a single heir."

He's walking closer to me. I hope he's not too offended with my grip on my sword still.

"An enticing thought, yes. However, what I need is a warrior of legend. Someone who is the best at what they do. Is that you, Archer?"

Damn it all, he heard that? Great, now I have two of them. "My name is Arcadia, sorcerer. But yes, I am the best fighter in the kingdom."

"I ask only for your cooperation. There are many others like you that I am also searching for. They need a leader to look up to if we are ever going to face the threat that is coming our way."

Is this Heaven? God, have you finally acknowledged my ability? This almost too much to handle.

Merlin's extending his hand, his skin is as clean as a whistle. "Is that leader you?"

I found that I can only nod in response, trying to keep my jaw off of the floor.

"Good," he said. With the hit of his staff, Merlin has opened up a portal, almost like an ethereal, shining doorway. It's so blinding, but I can't help admiring its beauty. "Do you accept what I offer? I will not force your decision, but today would be a nice time to make it."

Cheeky bastard. His hand is outright, awaiting my own and his words appear to be genuine. His scars do tell me that he's been around for quite some time. I'd be surprised if he even has skin left to scar. But, there's no doubt. He is the real Merlin. I just hope I can be back before dinner, lest I face the wrath of a thousand angry mothers.

No other words need to be said. "I accept your offer, Merlin," I bowed while shaking his hand.

"Very well. Let us make haste, Archer. Or do you prefer Arcadia?"

"For the love of all that is holy and divine," I said, straining not to squeeze his hand. "Please call me Arcadia."


	3. Birds Of A Feather

They say there is glory to be found anywhere and everywhere. Yet, it's made to sound like glory is some form of perfectly crisp, dispensable currency, as some people seem to think. Unfortunately, I happen to fall into that category of people. Outside of this room are hundreds of people who came to see a spectacle of absolute brutality. It's not like it's the first time I've slammed someone's body into the pavement. So why am I so nervous? Maybe some wine will take my mind off of things.

"You're looking awful pale," my brother said. "I could step in for you if you want. We're the same build, people wouldn't notice the difference."

It's a genuine offer, I can tell. "As much as I'm actually considering that, this is my fight, Gareth."

"I think that glass of red says otherwise."

"Hey, I have my remedies, you have yours."

"Right, well unless that wine is enchanted with some divine power, I don't think I would call it much of a remedy."

The television is staring back at me with that fiend's cold eyes. The Green Knight, one of the last semi-finalists in the tournament along with me. The other knights and squires have told me stories about how unbelievably tough this man is. We stand at almost the same height and yet, I've heard he's fought nature's biggest creations: lions, elephants, bears, possibly even greater than I've named so far. Many are still wondering why such a powerful warrior, even greater than my claim as one of the King's sons, is doing fighting against other noble knights underground.

Although, you're probably more interested in why  _ **I**_  am here.

For starters, I have been doing this for almost a three months and no one suspects that the King's oldest is fighting for the honor of his family. It was from the aftermath of the war that my father lost anything of what was left of his reputation as one of the high kings. Now, he pretty much rules in name only until the next heir steps in, which is me.

The winner of the tournament gets a chance to either win big money or fight the head honcho himself, Donovan Le Savage. Former warlord turned executive diplomat in my father's council, and yes that is as convenient as it sounds. Just before the end of the war, the kingdom was in disarray with its politics, especially where the monarchy was concerned. A coup was staged to defame my father and mother and the people just ate it up without giving either of them any representation. A new government was put in place where they could still operate, but now they have to answer to an administration so strict my youngest brother almost wasn't born. From here, I'm sure you can guess who's the infamous head of said administration. Who even let this guy grab a seat of power? His name even sounds like that of an evil villain's! Gareth eventually caught on to my dealings and has been helping me train under the radar, although he's been missing school to help me.

Anyway, now I've risen through the brackets and I am now that much closer to my goal. Okay, enough exposition, let's get out of here and on with the fight.

"You'd better hope you don't die out there," he said, "I'm not sure if our insurance covers illegal fighting tournaments."

Still as wry as ever. "I'll be fine," I said, putting a hand on his shoulder. "Just remember, if something happens, you were at school."

He nodded. "Oh, please, I'm pretty sure I saw some of my teachers in that crowd."

The doors burst open as a knight was carted through the locker room on a stretcher, reaching upwards as if to touch the heavens or the stars in his manic hysteria. Well, too late to turn back now. "Wait, before you possibly get torn into ribbons soon," he reached into his backpack, "I stole this from the armory stockpile this morning. Consider it an early Christmas present."

A wrist-mounted crossbow, huh? If I didn't know any better, I'd say this was actually a  _parting_  gift. Still, it looks like a work of art. Heavy, yet I can fold it under my gauntlet.

"Good luck, brother," Gareth shot me a thumbs up.

I'll win this for all of us, Gareth. You'll see.

The spotlight is calling to me and I will gladly step in it. Hell, I'll bathe in it. All of these people in the crowd on their feet, cheering for our mutual brutality. The camera flashes, the crazy light show, our names in big neon letters, it's just so much to take in. I can only imagine what the Green Knight must be thinking right now. It's another major fight for me, but to him, this is probably just another Sunday night. Wait no, it's Monday. Wow, I really need to stop drinking before my matches.

Funny, I don't remember my corner being so… red. This must've been from the poor soul that got carted away earlier. The stains are spattered from left to right so I can only assume this was more of a beatdown than anything. Judging from the green hulking brute of a knight, I'd say he's much stronger than he is fast and that he was going easy on the last guy. The knuckles on his gauntlets have more wear and tear than his war hammer so he must really love getting his hands dirty. Sorry, Green Knight, but this face has to kiss some more duchesses before the night ends. Unless you happen to actually be one under that helmet…

"Ready for a grand time?" the Green Knight shook the stage as he spoke. Nope,  _definitely_  not a duchess under there. "You'll make my count 12 by the end of the night."

Way to shake my confidence. What would Aunt Arcadia do if she were here? She probably wouldn't even be involved in underground fighting in the first place. Father? No, he'd probably just try and talk his way out of this. Hang on, that gives me an idea.

"Only 12?" I scoffed. "Trust me, it doesn't take much to get through the rest of these idiots. Still, I have to ask: does red come off easily on that armor of yours?"

He twirled his great sword, waving it like it baton. "That depends. Are you implying that you mean to actually strike me," the knight stroked his thumb against his blade, "or do you perhaps intend to bleed on me?"

The fight hasn't even begun and I already feel like my back is against the wall on this one. I've done this for so long, why am I so anxious now, of all times? Ah, come on, Gavin old boy, pull yourself together. The sweat is just seeping from my skin, only chilled by the cold blood in my veins.

"Afraid, little hawk? I'm just gonna clip your wings is all. Doesn't that sound like fun?"

"Not in the slightest," I replied.

Just in the nick of time, the referee descends into the cage on his platform from above. I might just use that as my entrance next time. He's looking at the both of us so I guess it's time to get this show on the road. More likely, the blood-stained floor. All right, he's calling us over now.

"Fighters, stand at attention. If you are knocked unconscious, you lose the match. If your body is tossed out of the cage, you lose the match. If you die in the cage,  _you lose the match_. Once the match has begun, you will not step out for any reason other than to concede your surrender."

I can only nod at his words as they gloss over my ears. All I can hear is my own heart about to claw out through my armor. The Green Knight is almost vacant, like a ghost in an empty corridor. Just past him, Gareth is cheering me on from the front row. For your sake, brother, I sincerely hope you never have to go through what I am doing. Mainly because if you died doing this, Mother would push through heaven and hell just to kill you herself.

The referee clapped. "Are you ready, knight? You've come far, but if you'd rather walk away-"

"No," I said, "I'm feeling a little green tonight. Let's get on with it."

"If that's what you want. How about you?"

The Green Knight chuckled. "I wouldn't have it any other way."

As he stepped back onto his platform, the referee ascended with a microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, can you make some noise for our fighters?"

The crowd is bursting with enormous noise, shaking the arena with their excitement. Every moment of this feels glorious, that I've earned their praise and affection. As wrong as this event is, I can't deny my feelings of absolute fulfillment.

"In this corner, he's rough and he's tough, he's the charmer in shining armor, the Casanova that'll put you in a coma. Please, put your hands together for the up and coming rookie, the Hawk of May!"

My time to shine.

"And in this corner," the referee swung his hand opposite of me, "he's lean and he's mean, he's the killer gravedigger, the menace out for your penance. Give it up for our reigning underground champion, the Green Knight!"

My time to rise.

"Fighters, at attention."

My time to climb.

"Blades at the ready."

My time to win.

"Your creed, Hawk?"

Better take the defensive stance while I can. "For the honor," I shuffled my feet away, "of kicking the Green Knight's armored hind."

"And you, Green Knight?"

He scoffed. "Creeds are for naive children. I only want to have a little fun with the bird boy."

"Very well. Set." The referee leaned in, eyeing both of us. The crowd is silent now, waiting for the last second before the carnage starts. My hands are steady, my feet are firm and grounded. I'm ready for anything. Nothing is ready for me.

"Duel!"

Right, on with-

"You're mine!" the Green Knight swung his sword with incredible precision, knocking mine out of my own hands. Oh shit, he was ready for me!

Did he throw away his own sword? Oh no, he's trying to get down and dirty with me like the last guy. How about an arrow in the chest for all of your troubles? I can thank Gareth for this crossbow later if this works!

"I don't think so!" I said, launching the bolt at the knight.

Damn, it missed his chest but at least he missed the leap as well. Better grab those swords before he recovers!

"That wasn't very nice of you," the knight replied, ripping the bolt from his pauldron, "come now, I only wish to maim you!"

"I hardly see how you can do that," I said, mounting my stance with both of our blades, "seeing as you lack the weaponry to do so."

"All I see is a dead boy in over his head and another sword for my collection." Is he going for a straight punch? No, he's not stupid from what I can tell so that means something is amiss here.

Aha, he's swinging for a back punch! Well then, Green Knight, allow me to sweep you off of your feet.

And down he goes, the crowd goes wild! Sir Gavin has pulled the wool over the Green Knight's eyes and there's only more where that came from.

"Sorry," I said, stepping on the knight's head, "I'm afraid I didn't see you walking there."

I'm amazed at how easily his helmet is denting under my boot. It's nice to see someone else in this position besides me.

There's growling and hissing underneath that armor. I'm beginning to think I've turned him feral. A quick strike to the head should wrap this up. "Then allow me to get out of your way!" he recoiled from the hit, launching himself.

Christ, he's reaching up!

"I must admit, little Hawk," the knight said with my throat in his hand, "you have a quick tongue on you. While impressive, it does nothing to help you lest only to satisfy my own challenging wit."

Okay… he's much quicker than anticipated. He doesn't even have the

goddamn courtesy to even look me in the eye.

"You hear how they cheer for me," he waved to the people beyond the cage, "it's something you crave, from what I've heard."

The visor in his helmet, he can't see out of it!

"I have a proposal for you if you would care to oblige me."

Well, how could I ever deny, considering my current predicament?

"I don't particularly care who or what you're fighting for, only that you take your hide and leave. The one before you chose rather poorly, but you're a smart young lad, aren't you? If you choose now, I might even let you  _walk_  out gracefully. What do you say?"

Interesting. The man has me in a chokehold and he's making demands for my exit, instead of finishing me off. Heh, I never expected him to resort to bluffing so soon. Maybe that boot to the head was more effective than I thought.

"Of course," he drew me in closer, tightening his grip, "I can always send your body back with that miserable brother of yours. Give him a martyr to fight me and add yet another to the body count. We don't want that now, do we?"

Well, if there was anything left of my fuse, it's gone. I may not be able to see him now, but I can most certainly feel Gareth's gaze piercing the back of my helmet, praying that I break free.

"I hate to," I almost spat, "break up this wonderful moment with you, I really do."

"Hmm?"

The Green Knight suddenly lurched backward, dropping me in the process. "But I think you should let  _me_  do the talking around here."

"Where," he struggled to blade the out, clutching his abdomen, "did you even hide this? Your blades were grounded!"

Thank heavens this armor can hide more than just a crossbow. "Oh, that little thing? Well, there is a reason 'contingency' is inscribed on that little lifesaver."

"Heh, clever boy indeed."

Time to finish this. "I don't know why I was so anxious to fight you."

He's only chuckling from that. "Perhaps, it was the fact that I was some unknown monster you'd never faced before. Is that it?"

"Maybe. Think of it like this, Greeny. We both win in this scenario. I move on to the next fighter and so on until I win against the Don himself."

"And how, pray tell, do I benefit from this?"

"Let me put it this way," I leaned in, sliding his blade under his chin, "you won't have to worry about your streak anymore."

Perhaps, it's the raw energy from all of the excitement, the feeling of yet another victory under my belt, or maybe even the sight of now decapitated Green Knight, but there is something resonating within in me. The crowd doesn't care, however, so neither shall I.

"What a finisher! The Hawk of May is your winner for tonight, ladies and gentlemen!" the announcer bellowed.

Well, there's no one stopping me from getting out of here now. I should get Gareth before too many people notice our leaving so I'd better head back to the locker room.

I can still hardly believe I survived another fight with another of Don's monstrous fighters. If I didn't know any better, I'd say he's got a hidden lab of super soldiers at his disposal. I'm sure my training is more than a match for any one of them, any day of the week.

It's nice to see the other battered knights shine some recognition towards me, in whatever they can that is. Sir Joffrey looks like he's about to choke on his own spit over in his corner, yet he's still managing a half smile at me.

I wonder if it's too early to claim the Green Knight's belongings. Probably, probably not. I'll just settle for finishing this heavenly bottle of merlot."Hawk," Gareth called from behind, "that was quite the show you put on out there."

"Did you start thinking that before or after I nearly got my windpipe crushed?"

"I want to say after. I'm glad you're okay, but I'd be lying if I said there wasn't just a little bit of satisfaction in seeing you get tossed around."

"Oh no, is this about stealing the last of your cookies last night?"

"Partially."

"You're not even supposed to be eating them, Mother said you're supposed to stay off the sweets."

"So it's okay for you to just finish them?"

"I'm a fighter! I need the energy."

Gareth took a deep breath, dropping his finger. "All right, fair enough."

Oh, how the young boy cries for his food.

"I think that might've been your quickest fight yet. I can imagine the higher-ups won't be too pleased with your stunted win?"

Unfortunately, his assumption is correct. The less amount of time fighting in the ring, the less money Don's raking in, which means fewer fighters to feed to the grinder. A slippery slope indeed, but still less slippery than my rolling head on the floor. Oh dear God, speaking of rolling heads...

There he is. The Green Knight walking about, severed head in tow. Maybe I was on the right track with that super soldier idea…

"Ah, yes, don't be alarmed," the knight reattached his head, squishing with every turn, "you aren't the first to strike me down like that."

"Is it too late to say I'm  _green_  with envy, then? I haven't exactly seen anything quite like you."

He chuckled, "Well, that is because there is nothing quite like me. I was born with-"

"Okay, I understand that you have a complex background -to say the least- but is there any reason you came back here?"

The knight looked around slowly, taking us aside. "Do not think for a second that your disguise is of any use against my own eyes, Prince Gavin."

Oh. Oh no, I think was my heart skipping a beat.

"I know about your family's history with Le Savage and the injustice you seek to amend."

"Look," I said, swallowing hard, "I'm not backing down from this, especially after our fight that took place. I owe it to the honor of my family."

"No no, I do encourage you to take this man down. Just don't expect to win any points with the people if you try to apply the same finishing touch as you did upon me. Justice must be swift, not mindlessly brutal."

"I'm sorry, I seem to recall you saying something about massacring 11 other fighters, both in the literal and figurative sense."

"They're all still alive, aren't they?"

Judging by the lack of body bags, I can't really argue with his point. "It's all just part of the show. Out there was a test to see where your allegiances were. Now, I know better."

"So then what do you propose I do?"

"Your tongue is your most powerful weapon," he smiled, "I'm sure you can figure out the rest."

Cryptic, terrifying, and yet somehow still motivationally effective. I suppose there's merit to his words, but now that makes me question who has the sharper tongue.

"Now, if you'll excuse me," the knight held the side of his head, "I'm going to get my head properly sewed back on. Good day to you, gentlemen."

I'm just personally glad this is all over for now. I won't know who my opponent is until after the next match, so time is on my side. Hopefully, we'll be home before anyone at home even notices. All the better, Gareth is probably mortified at the freak of nature he's just witnessed. Wait a second.

"Gareth," I turned and looked, "brother, where are you?"

Damn, he must've gone ahead. It seems he's adapting well to the roguish training better than I ever have. Come to think of it, this whole room is silent now. No shuffling lockers, no assorted moans, and groans, not even a shower running in here. Something is definitely off-putting here.

"Sir Gavin," a voice spoke, "I do believe I find myself in need of your talents."

Yes, something is definitely wrong here. "I don't know," I clutched my sword, "not entirely sure my talents extends toward ethereal voices. Why don't you show me what or  _who_  I'd be appropriating myself for, huh?"

"Funny, she never mentioned quick-wittedness runs in the family."

"She who?"

"Oh for God's sake, Merlin, stop toying with the boy." Another voice? Wait, that one sounded familiar. Wait, did she say Merlin? This had better not be a goddamn prank or I swear, hell will reign down like nothing else before.

"Gavin, turn around, you twit."

No, it couldn't be. "Oh sweet mother, why."

"Is that any way to greet your favorite aunt?"

"Before that, where the hell is my brother?"

"Oh," Merlin stepped forward, "don't worry, he's at home safe and sound. The other fighters are recovering in the infirmary as well."

Okay, this has officially crossed into the absolute strangest territory imaginable. "How can I trust what you say is true? I'm sure my mother once told me to stay away from magical bearded strangers at some point in my life."

Is Aunt Arcadia really facepalming at me? Knowing her, she probably jumped at the call without an ounce of hesitation. "Gavin, this is a man who can manipulate reality on a whim and you're abstaining from this opportunity?"

"I'm not going to force you to come with us," Merlin stretched out his hand, "but we're in desperate need of help. You can be assured that if you join us, this will bring us one step closer to freeing Camelot."

Camelot? Am I in a fairy tale legend? This is the last thing I expected to happen today and now I don't even know how to proceed with this. "I'm probably going to regret this later. If my aunt trusts you, I guess that gives me a little bit of confidence in you."

Might as well shake his hand while I'm at it. "Before we leave, why exactly do you need me?"

"Really, Gavin," she sighed, "can we just get on with it?"

"Easy, Archer, I need him for-"

"I told you not to call me that! My name is Arcadia, sorcerer!"

"I need him for his prowess and, dare I say, charisma. With the right training, you can become a powerful rogue for us. Your fight with the Green Knight showed us much of combative abilities."

Way to stroke my ego there. I suppose if I can be back in time for breakfast...

"I'm in."

"Good," he held his chest, "then we should be getting on our way."

"Wait, how did you know I'd be fighting the Green Knight down here? It's not like they were handing out pamphlets to watch the Hawk possibly get murdered."

"Oh, I paid him to fight you."


	4. A Silent Recourse

As much as I dread going to school, I just wish I had stayed home that day. From the moment I got up that morning I just knew Galahad was going to ruin it for me somehow. I just imagined it would’ve involved less bruised knuckles. The other boys stumbled to their feet as they looked me dead in the eye, petrified and sniveling. Muttered apologies and all, they threw Galahad his belongings back and began to race away like frightened pups.

Though he looked a little worse for wear, the poor boy just wouldn’t stop smiling. He wiped the blood from his nose and laughed as he tried to stand. How was he ever going to make it if I wasn’t there?

“Before you say anything, this was not my fault.”

Cheeky. There wasn’t even a phrase I could vocalize that shed even a bit of my disdain towards him. I simply sighed as I helped him walk to one of the benches nearby. There was pain buried behind his grin and even worse feelings further back. For Galahad, his existence to everyone else was a mere reminder of what was left of his father, a shadow of something shattered and absolutely broken. I guess that made me his only real protection, although I only now realized I could’ve made a fortune if I charged him. His father taught him every tool of the trade, every technique with the blade, and everything in between. What does he decide to do with all of that knowledge? The boy becomes a pacifist.

“My face is still pretty, right?” Galahad wiped his nose on his sleeve. Well, at least he was wearing red. I rocked my hand so-so, at least to acknowledge that I could recognize he still had a face. Nothing was broken, that time, so I’d say that was a good indication for the rest of the day.

He waved at one of the teachers passing by and staring, only to be met with regretful, hurried glance as they walked even faster away from us. It seemed our reputations had preceded us, no doubt from the scuffle that just took place. Before I could ponder further, the bell rang for the last class of the day to begin.

I reached my hand toward Galahad, who turned it away instantly. “Don’t worry about me,” he said. “Let’s just get on with it, eh?”

He managed a limp as we headed to our classroom. The class was full, the seats scattered and unorganized still from the previous creatures of the room. We took our presence to the back, away from the frontward noise where I sat closest to the window. My mind drifted off with my thoughts as the teacher began to drone on about the wonderful history of some far off, ancient civilization. I didn’t even need to turn to hear Galahad striking his paper with his pencil, trying to jot whatever he could hear.

Lost in the depths of my own imagination, I fought with the specters of my mind, envisioning myself fighting off hordes of enemies with only the mightiest sword. I took a stand in the mud, staring down the incoming warriors as I dug my feet in. They all came at me, humans, elves, orcs and trolls, halflings, dwarves, and fair folk alike roaring with the magnitude of an earth-quaking cataclysm. The rain poured down from the blackened sky, looming over the battlefield and its fallen warriors around me. I trudged onward, holding my sword as tight as I could. My own battlecry faded into the oncoming noise until all fell silent as I struck the first blow.

They grabbed me, pulling my hair and taking wild swings at my head as they crashed upon me. The vibration of each blade clanging with mine rippled along my arm. In an instant, they were all trying to be the chosen warrior of their own stories, the one to take down their final enemy and achieve glory. I denied them all one by one, of course, since there was that could possibly stop my furious, yet swift judgment. My breathing never escalated, my heart skipped nary a beat. The surge of the mud, blood, and rain painted my armor and body with each swing and step. 

Once there was a passing calm, they took to themselves and surrounded me in a cycling rotation of taunts and goading insults. They thought me trapped, but it simply meant that I could attack in any direction.  The first counterattack was easy but every follow-up parry opened my defenses as they jumped at me one after another.

In all of the ferocity that I enacted, the freezing bitterness of the rain caused my body to shiver and quake in my bloodied armor. Never have I felt so alive surrounded by the glorious atmosphere of mutually assured bloodshed. The richness of combat fueled my every desire of—

“Dreaming about the battlefield again, Pierce?” Galahad shook my shoulder, turning my attention from the window to him. I could only glare at his wry, bloody smile as he continued his notetaking, but from the edges of his paper were various scribbles and doodles. Faces of warrior maidens adorned his notebook who were fashioned with their signature blades and hammers. One, in particular, was Princess Arcadia Pendragon, the rookie champion duelist from Logres. I followed her on several social media outlets and not long after watching her sparring videos, I found that her style was easily adaptable yet oddly unorthodox. Purely offensive and full of holes, but no novice dueler would notice because they’re too busy getting swung about left, front, and center. 

I also heard rumors about some underground fighting ring over in Essex, but I figured it was just pure hogwash.

The time we spent in class droned on until the sweet ringing of the final bell. The other students clogged the hallway with themselves, blocking the door to the classroom. Galahad looked on in frustration until a bright bulb hung overhead. “Let’s just go through the window,” he gathered his books and made his way to the other side of the room. “If we’re lucky, they’ll probably just suffocate together in there.”

“For once, I agree with you,” I replied. It was a good thing we were on the first floor, otherwise, I’d have actually considered him mad. Well, madd _er_. Ideas like that made life interesting I suppose. The teacher was too busy in her own slumber to even worry about the commotion so slipping out was easy. It would be some time before his father would come to pick us up so we decided to walk to market center across the street. Apparently, there was a cultural event going on for the Moorish citizens with culinary and agricultural booths set up to draw in the masses.

“See anything you want, Pierce?” Galahad asked. I stopped at one of the booths owned by a supposedly known craftsman, but I was too focused on the actual crafts to hear his name. There were a variety of swords, hammers, and other foreign weapons I couldn’t even recognize but a greatsword in a glass case stole my gaze, crafted with serrated edges with an ebony finish on the blade and an amethyst encrusted hilt. I turned to my friend with the biggest smile I could muster. “I want it. I want it now,” I pointed incessantly at the weapon.

He chuckled with hearty laughter. “Well, maybe you can come back when you actually have £1000.”

I checked my wallet to see if the magical money fairy stopped by within those past five seconds and unfortunately I was met with lint and just a few shillings. “Perhaps next time. Come on,” Galahad said, “there’s a whole bunch of food stations further down.”

Well, if there was one thing I appreciated about the boy, it was his good taste in food. We usually hit up the nearby diners on weekends while his father was at work, though we’d also be kicked out because there’s always some poor soul thinking they were courageous in bullying my dear companion. After that, I had a grand time of trying to explain to my mother that the blood and teeth on my hands weren’t mine and why I reeked of chips. This was a good change of pace for me.

A lot of the samples we tried were generous helpings, to say the least, almost enough for a whole meal. Kebabs, meatballs, oxtail, it was a whole cornucopia of festivities fit for the whole kingdom.

My friend was relishing the eats and sights around us, taking in the atmosphere as drew about in his book once again. He captured the smallest details of the grass below and even the faces of passing strangers. The ink smudged his hands in his haphazard rush of creation like he did it on purpose.

Soon, we found ourselves captivated by a half-elf woman selling assorted pastries. “Why hello there,” she adjusted herself to her chair, “can I interest you young men with some almond clusters? Maybe a taste of peach syrup?” She dipped her finger into a cup of the syrup, tasting it with a strange passion. It was enticing enough that I took her up on her offer of a  free sample. Of course, Galahad agreed as eagerly as I did. “These delicacies were prepared with the utmost care and affection, only made with fresh ingredients from my farm back in the Moorish kingdom.”

She extended two spoons out toward us with the sweet substance in each. We looked at each other and shrugged, going along with motions. The first taste was anything but indescribable. “Sweet, decadent,” my friend smacked his lips, “warm and so smooth it just makes me melt from the inside out. Who do I have the pleasure of thanking for such a fine concoction?”

The woman giggled, glowing with red in cheeks. “I am Lady Rosina. To whom do I have the pleasure of welcoming the thanks?”

He bowed humbly in return and kissed her outstretched hand. “I am Galahad du Val,” he pointed me out chowing down on an almond pastry, “and this is my hungry best friend, Pierce Fisher.”

Though all I could offer in reply was an awkward wave, she seemed delighted that I took such an interest in her products. “I must admit, you two are probably the most charming customers I’ve had all day. Might I ask where you two are from?”

“I come from the Northern Forest,” I managed with my sugar covered fingers, “outside of Essex. Very nasty place.”

Rosina raised an eyebrow at me but luckily Galahad stepped in for me. “He’s from the northern lands of Essex, while I’m actually from here in Benwick. My grandfather also happens to be the king.”

“King Ban of Benwick? I know of his son, Prince Lars--” she gasped, holding her hands to her face, “Your Prince Lars’s son! Oh, my God, I can’t believe I’m speaking with Prince Galahad.”

I stepped in between them. “Duke.”

“My apologies, Duke Galahad. Please, help yourselves to my confections! I shouldn’t dare charge royalty.”

Despite being given the go-ahead to pillage the booth, he reached into his wallet and set down enough change to pay for my sweet tooth. “I don’t think I would sleep right knowing I robbed such a hard-working baker of her brilliant creations.”

“You’re much too kind but I do greatly welcome the compliment.”

They continued to exchange pleasantries as I kept chowing down on my pastry. The flakiness of the outside crust filled me with both delight and sugary goodness.

My enjoyment was short-lived as someone shoved their way past me. He turned back briefly but kept on his way forward. His face was shriveled and pale underneath his green hooded overcoat. I figured he was nothing more than a wandering vagabond or drug addict trying to snag some free food. Galahad took notice of my confused state.

“I am terribly sorry but I’m afraid I must take my leave now, Lady Rosina. It was an absolute pleasure to meet you,” he bowed.

She did so in kind as well. “The pleasure is all mine, Duke. Your kindness will always be welcome here.”

With that pleasant exchange done, we ventured off further through the festival. The boy walked with an unbroken grin alongside me, waving at those that actually managed to recognize him. A few Moorish girls stopped to take pictures with us, the future king and his baby-faced bodyguard. Despite the obvious height difference of a whole head, they assumed he was the older of the two of us. It was embarrassing, to say the least, but I tried not to ruin the experience for him.

On we kept walking until I caught a glimpse of the open courtyard with duelists sparring at its center. There were a number of rotating fighters and they were all pitted against each other at once. I was overjoyed once I realized that this was essentially a makeshift free-for-all spar. Immediately, I rushed over along with Galahad to get a better view of the action, pushing my way to the front.

There were eight of them total, clashing swords and bashing shields with great intensity. I felt the rushing breeze of each move the fighters made. I noticed each of their different fighting styles, everyone trying to gain the upper hand at the same time. Of course, they were all amateurs but in place of skill was an astonishing amount of power behind their moves.

I was closer than I thought and one of the duelists tossed me their sword and shield, essentially tapping out of the mess. “Knock ‘em dead, kid,” he said before vanishing into the crowd.

The other seven quickly caught me in their sights before returning to their original targets. I wasn’t quite sure how to engage myself and before long, Galahad was pushed into the bout with me. He tried to retreat back, but the crowd wanted him to fight, chanting his name over and over. The boy sighed and took a defensive stance next to me. “Try not to bleed on me this time,” I told him.

He replied with mocking laughter and a crooked sneer. Before long we were wrapped into the fray with the others. I kept myself in front of Galahad and took the brunt of almost every blow for him. The few that got past he managed to counter back with his shield.

I swung with wide arcs to keep them at a distance. In truth and in fact, I was waiting for one of them to try and get past the end of the swing to attack. Luckily, someone took the bait and moved with his shoulder to bash and his sword underneath arm to prod the shield back. I sidestepped, grabbing him and redirecting his force into two of the other fighters. He crashed into them, breaking their initial engagement and taking them out of the circle.

Heavy footsteps trod behind us and I turned to see the rotund duelist going for a stab with his sword. Without even so much as a thought, Galahad crouched and I vaulted over, bringing my shield down on his blade. Before he could close the distance further I struck upwards against his jaw, pushing him back.

As the man gripped at his mouth, he nodded at me. “Good one, lad,” he said. A small smile crept up on my face before continuing to exchange hits with him.

The boy was holding his own with just a shield against two women, one with a longsword and another with a mace. It was clear to both of us that in this ring, there’s no holding back, not even against royalty.

He dodged the longsword strike, hitting the mace woman on her helmet, crumpling to the ground from the blow. Weaving behind, he pushed her toward me, giving me the opportunity to clothesline her to the floor.

We quickly moved back into our formation. “Five down, two to go,” the boy said.

I gave him a quick pat on the shoulder, impressed he was still holding up. “Shall we?”

“By all means, you first.”

The two men that stood before us charged with an oddly asymmetrical dynamic: on the left, the rotund man was going for an overhead strike at me while the man on the right was arcing a slash at Galahad. It didn’t take much thought to see how this could easily unfold.

As soon as they initiated their attacks, I stepped back with the boy. Unable to stop, the man on the right struck his partner in the stomach knocking him back, causing the rotund man to angle his swing and strike the other in the legs. The crowd roared as they fell to the ground with deep gasps.

I was ecstatic after all of that, raising my arms up in victory. Galahad held one of my arms and pointed at me, getting the others to chant my name. Before long, he pulled me out of the circle and dropped our equipment as we exited. Others soon joined in our place and kept the excitement going.

“Well, I think it’s safe to say your ass-kicking skills are still as good as ever,” the boy said, “maybe I can convince my father to move you to Logres.”

“He could,” I grab his head and ruffled his hair, “but then who’d stop everyone else from beating down the kingdom’s favorite bastard?”

The courtyard was soon filled to the brim and we made our way back to the main booth area, taking a seat at one of the nearby benches. I gazed off into the distance, staring at what could’ve been Galahad’s dream home, Castle Benwick. It was a tiny place compared to the other kingdoms, but that never made it any less of a landmark to behold. The continent’s most powerful military and royal guard, the greatest commerce in, well, everything, and… he might not even inherit it. I caught him staring as well, most likely contemplating the same thing.

It was hard to see him smile after all of the pummelings he received. I couldn’t tell if he was hiding his pain, or if he felt some sort of pride from it. Knowing he was important enough that people would just go out their way to hate for no reason? Well, some say even bad recognition is good recognition.

Breaking his focus, his cell phone rang as it read ‘Dad’. “Hello?” he answered. “Yes, Dad, we’re at the festiv—what? Yeah, Pierce is right here with me. All right, all right. The entrance? All right, we’ll be there, but wait what’s going on? Dad? Dad, are you there?”

“What did he want?”

“He said he wanted us to get to the entrance so he could pick us up, but the call dropped… I think. Pierce, look around us.”

I looked and saw everyone around us was frozen as if stuck in time. There was no denying what the cause could be. That, or there was a “secret ingredient” in Lady Rosina’s sweets.

“Merlin, for god’s sake, are you going to do this every time we pick up someone?” someone said. We turned around to see a group standing before us.

“Listen, if you have any other definite way of proving I’m an almighty wizard, I’d love to hear it, Archer. Lord knows I’ve heard everything else out of you.”

Galahad raised an eyebrow at me, unsure of what to make of the situation. “Uh, who are-”

“It’s Arcadia! Arcadia Pendragon, you old buffoon! I swear you have no respect for royalty.”

The man with the hawk helmet stepped in between them. “Hey, take it easy, you two. I’m pretty sure these two are kind of freaked out enough right now, we don’t need a live performance of the Housewives of England to make it worse.”

The princess pouted, turning away as she mumbled obscenities to herself. “Get on with it, then.”

“Right, thank you, Gavin. My apologies, but might you two be Pierce Fisher and Galahad Merton, am I correct? I don’t want to accidentally pull the wrong people out of their home again. I am all but omniscient, I’m afraid.”

“Yes, that’s us,” I answered, “but may I ask why a self-proclaimed almighty sorcerer, an airheaded princess, and… whoever he is, would want with us?”

The princess turned her head with a perplexed look toward Merlin. “What the hell is he saying?”

“Look, long story short, I need your help to free my home of Camelot. There’s a great evil that has taken over and I alone am unable to stop it. I won’t force you to join and I won’t lie, it will be quite dangerous if you do. However, I would be eternally grateful for your help.” He extended his hand out.

The man had me at ‘dangerous’. Still, even with enough resolve to shake his hand, I hesitated as I noticed the boy’s doubtful eyes. “Galahad, what do you think we should do?”

He was quiet and took a moment to himself. “You know, if I didn’t know any better, I’d say we’re inside young adult adventure novel right now. I want to help, believe me, but it’s just—”

“We’re strangers with a rather bizarre proposition,” Merlin said.

“Exactly. So, much like a normal person, I should just close my eyes, pretend you never existed and just go on with my life like nothing happened.”

“Like a normal person _should_?”

“Yes, unfortunately, I’m a sucker for adventures. Count me in. How about you, Pierce? Perilous danger and untold excitement interest you much?”

It was nice to remember that the boy knew what I loved best. Before I could finish the handshake, however, motion returned to the surrounding people of the festival.

“Merlin, please tell me you’re not having performance issues right now,” Gavin said, gripping his scabbard.

“Very funny. No, this isn’t me. The temporal shift was manipulated by an outside source.”

All of us gathered back to back to see if anyone stood out amongst the crowd. “Meaning what exactly?” Galahad asked.

Princess Arcadia edged out her longsword. “There’s another wizard here.”

Suddenly, the ground beneath us began to quake and burst of light emerged. Emerging out from the light was the man in green I passed by earlier, now with crystals embedded in arms and veins bulging from all over his body. He cast magic missiles at us, but Merlin shot up a shield just in time to intercept them. Hearing the ensuing battle, everyone around us began to flee out of the marketplace back into the streets.

“Mabon,” Merlin growled, “How does a failure of wizard like you get sent to kill someone like me?”

The evil man chuckled. “You always did know how to exaggerate your importance, dear teacher.”

“What a disappointment you turned out to be.”

“Lord Accalon sends his regards.”

Whispering incantations, he conjured up the foulest looking demons you could ever imagine. Their body parts phased together and dribbling eyes almost like zombies except shadowy in appearance.

Merlin wasn’t going to give a chance to continue and charged forward with a stream of electricity. The beasts dodged it and bypassed him, advancing towards us. They pounced on top of us, one of them toppling over Galahad.

I raced over with as much speed as I could muster, but I was struck by one of Mabon’s stray missiles. Arcadia cleaved through a demon, running over to the boy. She kicked the demon off of him, decapitating it in the process. Galahad rose his hand up but she rushed off fight the other demons, ignoring his gesture. It wasn’t until Gavin ran over and grabbed his hand that he was able to stand up, quickly making their way over to me.

Merlin’s braced himself with his staff as Mabon unleashed a flurry of slashes with his magical, clawed hands. Pure offense was his downfall, and Merlin made sure he would remember that. The almighty wizard teleported behind his former student, impaling him through his back with the staff.

“Sorry, Mabon. Looks like you won’t be making it to graduation,” Merlin said. He pulled it out, allowing the evil wizard to be consumed by his own demons as they caught the scent of their summoner’s blood. With them occupied, a portal opened beneath and took them to someplace yonder.

We all gathered in front of Merlin. Gavin held me up by my arm. “We need to get out of here and the royal guard will be here soon.”

I winced and Merlin widened his eyes at me until his stoic face returned. “Don’t worry, Pierce, you’ll be fine.” If he was shocked by something, it certainly wasn’t the blood coming out of my side.

He placed the end is his staff to the ground and geared his nerves into overdrive. Incantations spoke aloud, and soon a rift tore open. The energy emanating from it was incredible as I felt waves pulsating outward from it.

“Now, if there are to be no more distractions, we really should be on our wa—” The almighty wizard was unable to finish as a brutish looking man rush past us, tackling him into the portal.

The rift flashed as they disappeared beyond it. “What the hell just happened?! Where did they go?”

Gavin stepped back with his sword, passing me over to Galahad. “Don’t know, c’mon Merlin’s in trouble!” He sprinted into the rift and vanished with another flash.

Princess Arcadia sighed, running in along after him.

The boy and I were the last to go. Without a second thought, he marched forward with me in tow. “Still think this is a good idea?”

I could only chuckle at his question. Even after all that’s just happened, I couldn’t be surer of myself. With a bright burst of energy, we stepped through into the unknown.

  
  



End file.
